


i could never hold a perfect thing (& not demolish it)

by Hymn



Series: Hymn's Fic: The Mandalorian Collection [6]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bantering, D/s, Established Relationship, Extended Scene Play, F/M, In Scene Kink Negotation, Overstimulation, Pegging, Praise, Safe Sane and Consensual, Scene Play As Stress Relief, Slightly Mean Dom Cara, Slightly Rough Play, Top Cara, anal penetration, bottom Din, clothed/unclothed, no prep, stone!Cara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22468915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/Hymn
Summary: “Why am I friends with you again?” Greef asks, sounding exasperated and deeply regretful. “I can’t believe this is one of yoursexthings. Right? This is totally one of your sex things, isn’t it!”Neither Cara nor Din reply, but that’s probably answer enough: it’stotallyone of their sex things.
Relationships: Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Hymn's Fic: The Mandalorian Collection [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561399
Comments: 47
Kudos: 179





	i could never hold a perfect thing (& not demolish it)

**Author's Note:**

> i've been in a writing funk so i decided a quick pwp was just what i needed HAHAHAHAHA yeah :| in any case, i'm fairly certain writing this porn broke my computer, and this is actually the even kinkier sequel to a weird domestic d/s fic i'm slowly writing, so i guess it might be helpful to know: cara gave din a bracelet to wear so that he has a clearer way of defining when they're doing play and when they aren't
> 
> hysterically i wrote this thing while listening to halsey's Forever...(is a long time) on repeat, so the title's from there too
> 
>  **edit** A THOUSAND PARDONS, i accidentally tagged this as cara/mando/omera at first THIS WAS A MISTAKE it's only cara/mando orz

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Because she has a new toy and wants to show it off, Cara stretches out on the roof of the tallest building in Nevarro. The lip of the roof is low, and the long barrel of her new rifle juts past it easily. A glint in the sky over the lava fields indicates the Razor Crest coming in for its promised landing. Cara checks the chamber; adjusts the scope. Breathes in, out, and lets the wind tell her how to aim. 

When Din Djarin emerges, youngling in tow, Cara squeezes the trigger.

\---

Greef Karga tells her she’s “the biggest skrogging idiot ever seen the galaxy over, and by the time Mando finishes with you you’re not even going to be fit for bantha fodder, but-- damn, Dune. What a way to go.”

All Cara can do is grin.

\---

It doesn’t take long for the Mandalorian to come riding in on a speeder. He’s going far too fast for the streets of Nevarro; Cara can hear the whistling whine of the old engine and also the yelling and cursing of Nevarro’s citizens. So it’s easy to mark his course and prepare for when he comes to a noisy halt in front of the cantina, right where Cara’s waiting for him.

Din appears in the open door. Cara squeezes the trigger again.

“Shit!” he shouts, louder than he probably meant to. But he only flinches back a little at the impact before storming through the near-empty cantina in an agitated state, cape snapping and boots clunking and shoulders all high and tight with outrage. Of course, the whole look is a little ruined by the adorable green face and big ol’ ears sticking out a bag at his side, bumping gently against Din’s hip. 

“Hey there, Djarin,” Cara says, quirking both brows. “I like the new colors.”

“What the _fuck_ , Dune?”

On his chest are two splatters of paint in a bright red, right over where his nipples would be. The third is centered beneath the other two, but only because he doesn’t have any beskar over his crotch. She has _plans_ , after all, and at close range the paint capsule stings something fierce, even through armor.

“Tell me this washes off,” he growls, bringing one hand down heavy on the table Cara’s sitting at.

“Probably,” Cara drawls, and then at the way Din’s whole body jerks in outrage she snorts a laugh and adds, “Relax, Mandalorian. I promise it washes off.”

A little of the tension leaves him, but not much. “Why did you shoot me? And with _what_ ,” he asks, still with that faint growl in his voice. It’s a nice sound, Cara thinks, all scratchy and hot-blooded; makes tension crawl up and down her spine, sharpening her focus. In her lap the rifle twitches beneath eager, greedy fingers, and she runs her eyes over the paint marring his beskar once more. She’s marked him; she wants to mark him up even more.

“Tell you what,” Cara murmurs, leaning in close enough that only Din will hear her. “I’ve got its twin. What do you say we arm ourselves and have a little fun just you and I, hm?”

“How is this fun?”

Cara leans back so she can smirk lazily at him. “What, not up for a challenge, Djarin?”

“...Fine,” he says next, and the gloved fingers of the hand he has planted on the table are still splayed wide, gripping the table tight. His voice lowers, that growl gone a little rougher. “How about a wager then?”

“Do tell.”

“Winner gets to the fuck the loser tonight,” he murmurs, bold at the start in a way he rarely is.

Cara’s breath hitches, and she sees his helmet tilt in a way that’s not coy, but might be a little feral. Din often has a quiet presence, but not always. Sometimes he’s bristling, snarling, a hot cloud of sharp danger that dares anyone to touch him. He’s daring her to do so now, and then some. But Cara’s not surprised. She set this up for a reason, after all: Din asked her to. 

Beneath his sleeve she has little doubt that the bracelet she gave him rests there, cold against his skin. A reminder that for now, he belongs to her.

That doesn’t mean that her mouth doesn’t go dry with desire at the tempting threat he makes, though. Her belly tightens, and she wants to get him down on his knees here and now, but Cara has a plan and a promise to fulfill, as well as Din’s boundaries in mind, so she doesn’t.

She _does_ rasp out, “Deal,” and shoot him again at point blank range, however.

\---

They get Greef set up with the youngling at Cara’s apartment, despite his halfhearted protests that his place is just as well-fortified and has better food, seeing as he actually has a cooking droid. Din makes a furious little noise in the back of his throat at _that_ comment, and Cara grins at him, wide and adoring, as she watches him get familiar with the modified rifle they’ll be playing around with. His paint cartridges are green, mostly because Cara’s always thought green was a good color on her.

“Shut it, Karga,” Cara says, off hand and indulgent.

Din finishes his inspection and stands, still all tightly controlled agitation. “Don’t wait up,” he adds. “And if I hear that you stepped foot out of this apartment there’ll be a bounty out on _me_ soon enough, Karga.” Din pauses, just a tad dramatic: “For your murder.”

“Why am I friends with you again?” Greef asks, sounding exasperated and deeply regretful. “I can’t believe this is one of your _sex_ things. Right? This is totally one of your sex things, isn’t it!”

Neither Cara nor Din reply, but that’s probably answer enough: it’s _totally_ one of their sex things.

Once the door cycles shut and Cara inputs her security code into the system, she asks Din as casual as she knows how, “You good?”

He grunts.

“I tried making uj cake again,” she tries, watching him sideways. “We can have it for breakfast tomorrow, yeah? You can tell me all the things I’ve done wrong this time around.”

“...Yeah,” he says. “Tomorrow. I’m good, Cara. I-- I still want this.”

Now, she looks at him head on. “And your watchword?”

Din huffs, sounding annoyed. _Looking_ annoyed, too, but Cara doesn’t budge, just stares him down until he grates out, “ _Yes_ , Cara. I remember it. And I’ll use it if I need to.”

Cara lets out a little breath she’d been pretending she wasn’t holding. Communication is important, but sometimes Din forgets how much she needs it; to know that she’s not taking advantage. She reaches out, grasping at his wrist. He lets her, holding still on the rickety stairs that lead down to street level, helmet turned so that his visor tilts down, watching her.

Beneath her palm she feels the hard curve of his bracelet. 

“Fantastic news,” Cara says, pleased, “because I’m _very_ prepared to win.”

Din’s breath comes heavy, a harsh exhale. “Cocky,” he murmurs.

Her hand tightens around his wrist, reeling him in a little closer. “You like it,” she teases. “ _Almost_ as much as you like my _cock_ pounding into your tight ass. Think I’ll make you beg me tonight.”

The shiver that runs through him is both obvious and _deeply_ gratifying.

But Din’s still sharp edged, lethal-minded. It’ll take more than lewd talk to break him down, so Cara doesn’t mind when he yanks his arm from her grasp, stomping down the rest of the stairs to get to street level. She’ll get him there, she knows; he _wants_ her to get him there, no matter how he fights, how he snarls. He’ll bend for her eventually.

Whistling, Cara follows easily on his heels.

\---

They go out into the lava fields, walking silently side by side as the light begins to deepen toward evening. Cara’s not surprised when, between one beat of her heart and the next, she only hears a single set of footsteps instead of two. 

Din’s disappeared, canny bastard that he is. 

But it isn’t like Cara doesn’t have a few tricks up her sleeves; she picks up the pace, heading toward one of the blinds she set up a day ago.

Din isn’t going to _let_ her win. He doesn’t have that in him, and Cara wouldn’t want him to. After all, Din’s surrender is a gift, but not one that is freely given. She has to _earn_ this, just like she earned his trust, his vulnerability, in the first place: moment by moment, act by act. 

For as long as Din will let her, she’s going to keep right on giving him a reason to trust her.

So Cara gets to work.

\---

By dusk’s end they circle up near the Razor Crest, Nevarro a distant collection of dark shapes and spindly lights. “Not bad,” Cara hums, sporting four different green paint splatters on her body armor, along with a fifth that’s going to be a mottled purple bruise on her calf come morning. 

Din’s damned _good_ with a rifle.

But not good enough; their game was rigged, after all.

“Don’t be smug,” Din says, and his voice _vibrates_ , quiet and violent and fearless and desperate, too many things to bear all at once. He shifts on his feet, shoulders twitching, and Cara counts off the red starburst patterns that adorn him, forcing him to hold still while she does so; his breathing gets strained. 

“Seven,” she says, as smug as she can. “Not even counting the four I gave you before we started.”

Her slow circling comes to a halt before him. She drops her rifle to the ground carelessly, hands easy and open at her sides. “My win, Djarin.”

The beskar plate on his chest heaves, catching the distant light of stars. Cara knows in an instant that he’s not ready, not yet, though he’s close. His blood is up from the challenge, from the bitter taste of defeat, no matter how it fell out exactly as he’d _hoped_. Din Djarin doesn’t know how to stop fighting, after all. But sometimes he wants to; sometimes Cara has to _make_ him.

He pivots, running hard for the Razor Crest. 

Cara’s following easy on his heels again. Unlike her, Din’s weighed down by beskar, his rifle still clutched awkwardly in his hand, the drag of his cape through the air. Timing a burst of speed, Cara catches him right before he can clamber up the ramp, the Crest’s side having opened up in welcome with a single press of Din’s finger to the controls on his armor. When she gets her hands fisted in the straps of said armor, heaving backward so that he jerks to a stop, he grunts, dropping his rifle with a clatter and stumbling into her. 

“Caught you,” Cara says, breath whistling harsh in the chilling air.

It’s dark now, no one but the stars and the spitting lava to see Cara put Din on the ground. She wants it; thrills at the chance to do it. Before he can even catch his breath to snarl insult, Cara kicks the back of his knee to make him crumple. 

He hits the ramp _hard_ , metal ringing. Bearing down with her weight Cara gets him pinned onto the ramp’s incline on hands and knees. Instinctively, Din tries to rear up and knock her off, but Cara’s expecting it, is solid and determined and utterly unyielding at his back. Gets her legs tucked on either side of his, arms parallel to his own and her hands over the backs of his, boxing him in with her body. 

“You don’t want to keep fighting me on this, Din,” she grates out, fighting his every bucking impulse. When she refuses to be budged he shudders hard, back arching. Cara bites at the fabric of his clothes, the strap of his chest plate, liking the curve of him beneath her. 

“You’re fucking heavy,” he huffs.

Cara snorts. “You like it. Done fighting, yet? Don’t think I won’t fuck you right here in the open.”

She won’t, of course. There are too many dangers; but the threat doesn’t need to be real to be _felt_ , and Din stiffens up beneath her, breath going even more ragged. His elbows don’t seem to know whether to lock or bend. His head drops forward between his shoulders, revealing a vulnerable slice of skin above his cowl that’s practically begging her to bite him where he’ll _feel_ it this time.

“That’s beautiful,” she tells him. “You’re beautiful, Din, c’mon. Give it up to me.”

He shivers beneath her, a fine tremor. When he speaks, there’s still too much tangled up in there, too many emotions, too much stress; but it’s all starting to fracture beneath a different kind of heat than anger, at least, which means Cara’s doing her job right. 

“Why doesn’t this part ever get easier?”

Cara leans more weight into him. “It’s easy sometimes, isn’t it? You’ve gotten better at letting go.”

Din snorts. “Yeah. But sometimes… I want to. I _do_. It’s just...”

“Do you need your watchword?” Cara asks. 

When she sees Din shake his head in a sharp negative, she grunts, shifting on her knees so that most of her weight is pushing against his upper back, forcing his elbows to bend. She says, “Use your _words_ , Din. Do you need your watchword?”

“ _No_ ,” he seethes. “No, I don’t. I need-- _Fuck_ , why can’t this be _easier_?!” 

“‘Cause then it wouldn’t be _you_ , would it?” Cara asks, tone dry even as she moves quick, fingers familiar with the clasps and secret buttons of Din’s clothes, letting herself in. He holds steady against her, breathing going shallow as she gets her hand around his cock, squeezing sweetly.

“You trying to distract me?” he asks.

Cara tugs at him a little. He’s not really hard, but the flesh in her hand gives an interested twitch, thinking about it. “Why? Is it working?”

That gets a soft huff of laughter, which makes Cara smile. 

“You knew this was going to be tough,” Cara tells him, steady and sure. “Why you gave a head’s up, remember? All I need to know is if you’re willing to give this a go, Din. If not, we can take off the bracelet and head back home. You can try my shitty baking. Or--”

“Fuck me,” Din growls out. 

“Yeah,” Cara says, gone a little breathless. “Yeah, or _that_.” Another squeeze of her hand, harder this time. It shocks a gasp from him. “That what you want?”

“...Yes.”

Cara wraps her free arm over the front of his chest, up high across his collarbones. Uses it to pull him back, settled into her lap while she slowly pumps his cock to hardness, positioned where he can look down and _see_ it, watch her hand on him out in the open air. He groans, and Cara finally manages to get her teeth on the nape of his neck, hard enough to leave a mark. 

“Then don’t worry about being difficult,” she tells him. “I’ll get you where you need to go.”

\---

Once he’s hard and gasping, fighting to keep still, Cara leads him onto the Crest by the grip she has on his cock. Din’s hissing and flinching, but Cara doesn’t let go until he hits the control panel, closing up the Crest. Inside is as tight a fit as ever, nearly claustrophobic. But Cara likes it that way, wants there to be zero space between herself and Din, his armor clattering to the ground and his boots kicked off, pants shucked and shirt torn off until he’s wearing her bracelet and helmet and nothing else.

“You always look so _good_ like this,” she breathes, backing him into his weapons rack. 

“Cara,” he grits out, thin and wavering high. 

He gets like that quick when she leaves all her clothes on, all the armor and even some of the weapons while he’s bare and defenseless. Cara presses in even closer, not giving him room to move. He moans at the rough weave of her pants brushing against his thighs. 

“You _do_ ,” she insists, “You look so good, Din. Stay just like this for me.” 

He does, shifting only a little to try and get comfortable against the cold metal edges he’s propped against. Cara distracts him as best she can, of course, stroking her hands over his skin, scarred and golden; scratches through the wiry hair on his chest, tugging lightly. Takes the time to tweak his nipples, rubbing lightly enough to make him squirm before he catches himself. 

That just means Cara needs to try harder; she keeps rubbing, teasing him. She likes how he leans his weight back the longer she does it, bare feet sliding on the floor a little. It puts her over him, gives her those few inches she needs to have him beneath her without being horizontal.

His breathing is getting rough and choppy again, fighting visibly not to squirm. “Cara,” he says, “ _Cara_ , stop, stop--”

“Hell no,” Cara says, and starts pinching them.

“Fuck,” Din bites out, reaching both hands up to grab back at the shelves, scrabbling for something to hang onto.

“Oh, yeah. Just like that,” Cara praises, and when he pushes his chest out for her to have easier access, she rewards him by leaning down to mouth at him, biting sharp and then sweet. He makes an aborted noise, something greedy quickly smothered.

That won’t do, Cara decides, and reaches down to hitch his knee up against her hip.

His helmet clatters against a blaster, cock jumping with interest at the new position. “Yeah,” Cara sighs, one hand still squeezing his pec, thumb brushing the sensitive, puffy nub of his nipple, while the other grips his thigh tight enough he might have pale bruises in the shape of her fingers tomorrow. He can’t keep that greedy noise inside this time.

She looks him over admiringly. “ _Just_ like that, Din. Feeling good?”

“I’d feel better with your cock in me,” he groans, sounding petulant.

Cara would laugh if she weren’t busy swallowing down a pulsing wave of desire, heat moving through her. After all, Din’s not the only one eager. It takes a moment to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth, but Cara manages it. “Not much for foreplay tonight?”

Din snorts. “What do you call shooting at each other?”

Now, Cara _does_ laugh. 

She’s still laughing when she pinches Din’s nipple hard enough to make him hiss, spine going tight with tension, moaning and relaxing into it when she worries the hardened nub between finger and thumb. Cara glances down Din’s body again, taking in the vulnerable belly, his bared hips and throbbing cock, muscles in his tensed, spread thighs twitching with anticipation. 

Heat clenches in her belly once more, arousal sharp and bright. Yeah, she’s not much for further teasing either, if Cara’s being honest.

“All right,” she decides. “No more foreplay. But that means I’m not going to stretch you open, Din. Think you can take my cock anyway?”

“ _Uh_ ,” he says, the word thick and dazed sounding.

“Keep your leg up,” Cara says, and he jolts to keep it from slipping down when she lets go. Hitching it high, he gets it over her hip and locked around the small of her back; it leaves him even more open, at just the right angle for her cock to get inside. 

It feels good, having him obey so readily. She likes this part so _much_ , the focus and the control, the way that arousal can eat her up inside but never truly touch her because it’s so much less important than _this_ , the act of taking and giving simultaneously. Everything narrows down to Din and the way he shifts restless, shivering with nerves but still willing to let her take care of him. 

All Cara wants is to break him down until he’s in pieces in her hands, satisfied and overwhelmed and entirely open to her

“Cara,” he mumbles, still sounding thick and dazed. “Wait, _wait_ , what do you mean--”

“I’ve done it before,” Cara tells him, fumbling at the pocket where she stashed her cock before they left her apartment. “If we go slow, if we take our time, you can adjust. It’s either this, or more nipples.”

Din stares at her through that visor, seemingly unable to formulate a reply. 

Cara waits, taking the time to get her cock in place. The upper part of the base is magnetic, built to lock over her belt buckle. The lower part slides in a narrow taper down to just over her clit, giving her something to grind against through her clothes. In the base’s center springs her cock, a modest five inches and not too thick; Din’s favorite.

For now, at least. She thinks she can train him up a size or two given enough time.

“I--” his voice clicks in his throat.

Cara gives her cock a few testing strokes, making certain the fit is good. Her lashes flutter at the first press of the base against her clit. The sensation is dulled a little by her clothes, which she’s grateful for. 

When she focuses again on Din, she sees his helmet angled in such a way that Cara _knows_ he’s staring at her cock, gleaming and silver and cleverly curved, no give whatsoever. He’s going to feel all of it, all of _her_ , for days to come.

Her own voice thick now, raspy with hunger, she asks him: “You remember your watchword?” 

“Uh,” he says again, “Yeah, yeah I... Fuck, Cara. Are you serious?”

“You can do it,” Cara tells him, rubbing at his sweat dampened throat with heavy fingers. “I promise. But if you need your watchword, use it. This’ll get intense.”

Din’s whole body is shaking with nerves now, but also _anticipation_ if his eager, twitching dick is anything to go by. Cara grins lazily, reaching for the tube of lube she brought along as well. Slathering it on her cock, she says, “Hold still for this, okay? I don’t want to waste any,” and then reaches down to press the tube’s opening against _Din’s_ opening, squeezing the last of it on and _in_ so that he gets messy with it, wet and slick all over.

“Ngh! That’s fucking _cold_.”

“You’re gonna need it,” Cara says, and it’s threat enough to get Din gasping again, his knee pressing in and in and in on her hip, a reflexive squeeze. “Ready?”

“ _Fuck_ , no.”

Cara leans in, one hand still heavy over the base of Din’s throat, the other helping her slot the head of her cock up beneath Din’s balls before dragging slowly down. It slips against the lube with an obscene, wet noise, and Cara twists her hips a little to rock a tight circle against Din’s rim, just the way he likes to be teased. 

“Hm.” Cara smiles. “How about now?”

Groaning, Din tips heavier backward, still holding himself up with only one leg braced on the floor. Both hands are clenched white-knuckled on the shelves, his other leg pulling her in close enough that her cock presses in a little harder. 

“Do it,” he grits out. “Just-- Do it, then.”

Cara hums. “My pleasure.”

\---

It takes a long time, and Cara was right: she gets Din to beg that night.

Using just her cock she presses and teases, coaxing Din into relaxing, into tilting his hips and opening up to her. He wants it; Cara thinks he wants it like _this_ especially, the promise of too much and too soon and just enough. He’s told her before, come-drunk and blissful: he likes how big she feels inside, a feeling he can’t get used to, driving him to absolute distraction. 

But he’s tight, too tight for carelessness, so it’s not by careful inches that Cara sheathes herself inside; it’s careful _millimeters_. “It’s too much,” he chokes out at one point. “You can’t, it won’t _fit_.”

“It’ll fit,” Cara grunts, carefully working her hips back and forth in a gentle sway. 

Getting just the blunt head past his rim is nearly enough to undo him, Din thrashing his head backward, impatient and terrified and _wanting_. Cara’s honestly not sure how they manage it, but they _do_ , Din moaning long and shaky once he’s finally stretched tight around her girth.

After that, it doesn’t exactly get easier. Each second is a battle for Din to breathe, to keep from clenching up. To let her in and in and _in_.

By the time she’s got nearly two inches inside he’s gritting out curse words with each sharp inhale; Cara has to grab his thigh and hold on, keeping him in place with her own strength as Din shivers and pants and groans, helmet grating against the racks behind him every time he restlessly shakes his head.

“Please, fuck, _Cara_ , that’s it-- that’s _it_ , I can’t I can’t I can’t--”

“You _can_ ,” she promises. “Let go, give it up.”

“ _Fuck_ you,” he hisses, chest hitching on what might’ve been a sob on anyone who wasn’t Din Djarin. With a frustrated groan, he opens up a little more; Cara slides in another quarter inch. 

It’s possibly the hottest thing Cara’s ever seen, watching her cock lay claim to him.

Watching him let her in.

“Just another few inches,” she tells him, and when he _whimpers_ in response to how much further they have to go she can’t stop a hungry shudder that shakes her whole body, moves her inside him in a way that has that whimper becoming a cry. He sinks down a little more when he jerks against her in reaction, crying out again and _again_. Each helpless shift, each arch of his spine and twist of his hips gets her that much farther inside and it’s making Cara wild to hold still, to keep steady, he’s so fucking _beautiful_ like this.

“ _Cara_ ,” he pants. “Ngh! You fucking _asshole_. Fuck, _fuck_.”

Grinning, Cara leans back to get a better look. Says, “Hm. Think we need more lube, don’t you?” and ignores Din’s furious snarl when she drags her cock slowly back out of his hole, retreating and giving up all that hard won ground so that she can rub the excess lube thick on Din’s skin back onto her cock. She fucks it into him in short, languid thrusts until they’re back where they left off at.

“You’re almost there,” Cara says, leaning down to press a kiss against his neck. “How does it feel?”

“Horrible,” Din bites out, but in the same breath admits: “ _Wonderful_ , fuck.”

Cara kisses him again.

\---

By the time she’s fully seated Din’s barely stringing together words, but the noises he’s making are so _sweet_ , his body a limp weight in her arms, head lolling backward. He’s drenched in sweat, skin shivering with hypersensitivity; he’s clearly overwhelmed, dazed and blissed out with the feel of her filling him up. 

She takes her time once they get there, though, shallow thrusts that stay deep, keeping him open and getting him used to her being there. When he seems _slightly_ less overwhelmed, she checks in.

“You all right?” she breathes against his helmet. 

He’d slipped down so low during the whole ordeal that Cara had to get her arms under _both_ his knees, holding him up nearly in half and pressing him back so that he won’t fall. The fact that he let her with only an easy sigh of relief is _still_ making Cara’s head spin. It feels wonderful to have him like this, held fast in her arms, pinned and penetrated. 

That’s _her_ cock inside him, she thinks, gulping for a breath as her skin prickles with arousal. _Her_ cock stuffing him full, punching all these delicious sounds out of him. She fucking loves it.

“Din?” she asks when he doesn’t answer. “Hey, Din, you with me?”

“Y-yeah,” he finally manages, voice faint. 

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Cara tells him, and can’t help the way she sounds so indulgent, lush and tender as its ever been. But it’s just her and Din and all their shared vulnerability, the trust they’ve built between them. It’s safe to be tender; safe to be vulnerable. 

Din makes a soft, wonderful little noise. “Please. Fucking move, _please_.”

Cara moves, because she absolutely does _not_ need to be told twice. 

The sigh Din gives her when she pulls out and thrusts back in is the absolute sweetest thing, so Cara keeps doing it, slow and sure. Keeps giving it to Din at just the right speed and angle he needs for his cock to plump back up to full interest, for him to start squirming and groaning, and then, because she can’t help herself, she gets a better grip on his hips, shrugging his legs up over her shoulders.

“Ah,” Din gasps, heels digging into her back. The new angle must be good, because its like he can’t stop moving suddenly, shifting and squirming until Cara turns her careful grip into a hard one, holding his hips still. 

“Better hope you can come like this,” she grunts, and then she _really_ starts fucking him.

There’s nothing languid about her movements anymore. She shoves into him mercilessly, rocking her hips in and out of him in hard, hot snaps. It presses the base of her cock against her clit so that she starts moving into a dirtier grind at the end of her thrusts, chasing the feeling.

“Oh! Oh, oh, keep-- _fuck_ , do that and I can, I will, oh _fuck_ \--”

Cara gives it to Din as hard and good and filthy as she knows how, pumping him so full of her cock that he won’t ever be able to forget the shape of her. In only takes a minute or two for her orgasm to roll through her, a brief shivering shock that throws off her rhythm for a few beats, just enough to have Din muttering more curses, more pleas, hips jerking helpless against the air to try and get her moving again.

His balls are drawn up tight, cock so red it looks painful. 

“You’re close,” Cara says, breathless.

Din’s only answer is a groan, choked up and frustrated, and Cara hums and stays still a moment longer, enjoying the way it makes him twist a little wilder, a little more desperate. He grunts, his feet digging even harder into her back to try and pull her in.

“You want to come?” Cara asks, glancing up to take in the way her bracelet looks on his wrist, shining and triumphant.

“ _Yes_ ,” he gasps. 

“I’m not sure you’re desperate enough,” Cara muses. 

When she goes back to fucking Din she’s changed her angle, her pace. She’s gentle and slow again, keeping to just the blunt tip of her cock for a while, until Din’s making senseless noises and begging broken for her to “Fuck me, Cara, _please_. Put your cock _in_ me, let me come!”

“That’s better,” Cara tells him, “But not good _enough_.”

The sound Din makes this time definitely _is_ a sob, dry and wretched. It’s music to Cara’s ears. 

\---

Cara doesn’t orgasm easily and doesn’t always enjoy it much when she does. But it seems as good a marker as to when to give Din release as any, so she fucks slow and too-gentle until sensation builds up in the base of her spine again, flares up hot and sharp through her belly, her chest, and she tips over into her second to the breathtaking sound of Din making punched out little _ahn_ sounds, over and over again as her hips jerk and buck.

“You’re amazing,” she gasps out once she recovers. “And I’m not going to be able to lift my arms for a fucking _week_ but this is so worth it. You’re gorgeous when you let go, Din. I love it so much.”

She’s not sure he hears her, but it deserves to be said.

Sweat is slick on her skin, she’s too hot in all her armor and clothes, and Din deserves absolutely everything she can give him, so she ignores all her little discomforts and fucks him like she _means_ it.

Pulling back, she drives her hips forward hard and deep. Din shivers, gasps, surrenders into it. Beautiful, perfect: Cara tells him that, whispering praises when she has the breath for it, half her slurred out words lost to the slick, obscene squelch of her lubed cock moving inside him. 

“Cara,” he breathes. 

“Yeah, Din,” she pants back. “I got you. You gonna let go for me now? All the way, sweetheart. I want you to come for me.”

“Yes,” he whines. “Yes, _yes_ , please, let me--”

“Then _do_ it,” Cara snarls. 

Din’s soundless when he comes, cock flushed purple at the head and balls drawn up all tight as they pulse his load out, splattering against his chest and abs. His body jerks, shaking around her, and Cara has to grit her teeth against his feet kicking her, his hips trying to buck out of her grip. But damn if it isn’t a fine sight; even feels good, the greedy clutch of his ass as he rides out his orgasm tugging at her cock, rubbing at her clit. 

Cara leans back as best she can to watch the way his ass clenches around her, his stretched rim all puffed out and pink from fucking.

He looks so _used_. 

She can’t help the rough, hungry noise she makes, or how her heart pounds. When Din stops clenching up around her so hard, she drags her hips back slow and careful, just to fuck them in a little harder, a lot sharper. Din cries out, so Cara does it again, then _again_ , until he’s begging her to “Stop, please! Too much, too _much!_ ”

“I like it like that,” Cara says, grinning down at him.

Din groans, thrashing weakly beneath her. 

\---

She wasn’t lying, of course. Cara really _does_ like it like that, maybe a bit too much. But she cuts her fun short fairly quickly. Her back and shoulders are screaming at her for holding most of Din’s weight for this long. 

Getting her cock out and Din’s legs steady beneath him is a trial, but they manage it. He’s gaping open a bit, and since his bracelet is still on and Cara still has desire burning restless inside her skin, Cara doesn’t keep herself in check; curls her tired and aching arm around the small of his back, fingers slipping between his ass cheeks to flutter her fingertips into his hole.

He makes a broken, guttural noise, clenching his hands tight around her biceps. 

“Too much?” Cara asks, voice low. 

The fact that she _wants_ it to be too much is something that they both know perfectly well. Din takes a hitching breath and leans his helmeted forehead against her shoulder, tipping his ass out to give her a better angle. Cara hums, pleased, and starts stroking her fingers through the mess she’s made of him. Din won’t get hard again this soon, but that doesn’t matter. 

“You’re so good to me,” she soothes, gripping his hip with her free hand.

Din only moans weakly in reply.

Cara keeps playing with him, stroking along the hot silk of his inner walls, slick with lube and still so loose from the shape of her cock making a home inside him. She doesn’t let up until he’s shaking anew, and then she twists her wrist for a better angle and gets at his prostate, rubbing it slow and firm until he’s making wet sounds in her ear, thick and choked and trembling. 

This might be her favorite, she thinks, the want and hunger heavy in her chest, dark and thick; she wants Din raw and broken, wants him weak and docile in her arms and letting her do this to him, pushing him past that edge he was so certain he couldn’t handle at first. 

Cara rubs harder, Din giving a feeble cry, knees wobbling. 

“Hang in there,” she murmurs. “Just a little more. Gonna make you come again like this.”

“ _No_ ,” he protests, even as he’s struggling not to let his hips drop, grinding down helplessly on her fingers. “No, no, I can’t, _please_.”

“You _can_ ,” she tells him, thick and fierce. “Give me just a little more. Let me have it, yeah?”

He lets her.

\---  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> if i could've figured out the star wars version of the stoplight system i would have used it, one safeword is just NOT NEARLY ENOUGH also, though i did not have enough energy to write the aftercare PLEASE TRUST ME, aftercare totally happens
> 
> thanks for reading! <3


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